I've watched you now a full half-hour; Self-poised upon that yellow flower And, little Butterfly! Indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless! - not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!

Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.

Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect

The child is father of the man.

The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.

The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.

Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present, to live better in the future.